Main Entry: writerheadPronunciation: \ˈrī-tər-hed\Function: nounFirst Known Use: circa 1995
1 : a (usually) temporary state of dreamy concentration and fluctuating consciousness during which a writer feels most creative, productive, and artistic < upon waking in the morning, rolling out of bed, gently shushing one’s husband, and settling in at one’s desk: “Sssshhhh, I’m in writerhead” – Kristin Bair O’Keeffe >

Category Archives: Creative Nonfiction

So it’s been a while since I last blogged. (Okay, it’s been a loooonnnggg while since I last blogged.) But I’ve been wonderfully occupied with getting our new son Yao acclimated and comfy in his new home. And, yes, I’ve managed to squeeze in some writing between 4:30am & 6:15am every day.

Happy to share that my new essay, “With Child,” was recently published at Jennifer Pastiloff’s amazing site, The Manifest-Station. This story of my adoption path to the Yaoster is one of the most from-my-heart things I’ve ever written. Would love for you to head on over there and give it a read.

Here’s the beginning:

“During the adoption process for our second child, I packed on a good twenty-plus pounds. As a number, twenty isn’t so much. Twenty bucks won’t get you far. Twenty minutes pass in a flash. And at twenty years old, most can’t find their way out of a paper bag. But if you go to your local farmer’s market, pick out two ten-pound pumpkins, strap them to your arse, and walk around for a day, you’ll quickly realize that twenty pounds is a heck of a lot of weight.

“Physically, there was no reason I should have gained any weight at all. It’s not like I was growing our child in my womb and had to feed it. But emotionally, for nearly two years as we went through the adoption process, I was eating for two. Emotionally, I was trying to feed this faraway baby in a Chinese orphanage who I didn’t even know, yet who I knew was not getting enough love or nutrition or food or stimulation…all those things babies need. From thousands of miles away, I was eating and eating and eating, trying desperately to give our future child everything he or she needed to thrive until we could scoop them up and bring them home…”